Fighting with You
by Uriel Falcon
Summary: I don't have to open my eyes to know where you are. ONESHOT, mature subject matter. femmeslash


Fighting With You

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own CSI or any of its characters. This story has mature subject matter, read discretion is advised.

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A dull murmuring awakens me from what seemed like an eternal sleep, a rough buzzing by my ear. I don't think there is any point in opening my eyes, simply because that would mean facing the world again. To be more specific, it would mean facing you again. You, who I can still feel in my hands. You, who I can taste on my lips and my tongue. Your alluring, hollow voice is still swishing in my ears, your steady rhythm thudding behind my eyes.

I don't have to open my eyes to know where you are. It's sad, really, to think that this power you hold over me is strong enough to weaken me when we are apart. This isn't good, because I can't have you at work, where I need to be strong and alert. I fight against your power; your irresistible taste, your calming yet enraging voice, the coolness of your body, pliable yet rigid in my hands. You control me, something that should never occur.

We fought last night, you and I, and we'll fight again today and tonight. We fight every day, to speak the honest truth. Even as I fight with you for control over myself, I can't help but want you more and more every time we are together. You have what I need and you get what you want. I'm just a warm body for you to slither through like the disease you are. Hehe, you don't like it when I call you that. My beating heart is warmed and cooled by your sickeningly tight grasp. Sometimes I love you, because you make me forget what is happening to me; nearly killing a man, diving into depression and reliving the horrors of my life. At other times I hate you, because you destroy me more than you fix me.

I wish you would let me win our fights. Then I could go to work and be strong without you. I could feel again, maybe even laugh again. But then I would come home and see you sitting on the table, filled with the lusting disease and beckoning me again. I feel like such a useless whore. I always return to you, my wretched, dying bride. I drop my coat onto the table and hang up my keys, already moving towards your cold body. You make me burn with a painful desire, a desire that is a monster taking hold of my will.

I reach for your smooth, cold neck. My fingers have a set path that they travel; from your neck they travel across your chin and your forever open lips, down past the swell of your chest and around your perfect hips. We lean close, and I often contemplate what I'm doing before giving in to you and kissing your smooth lips, drinking from your everlasting fountain of poison. You pour into me and take my thoughts away, and for that moment, all I need is you. Your taste burns at first, but then it soon becomes welcoming, inviting. I've been on the outside looking in for so long that being inside, no matter how hard, is like a dream to my weary eyes.

After I feel I'm done with you, the fighting begins. You want more of me, begging for your release like the two-timing slut you are. You taunt me, all the while knowing that you'll get me in the end. Unfortunately, you always win. I grab your neck roughly and slam my lips to yours, taking all I can, sometimes even spilling your godforsaken poison. Then I toss you away and watch as you cry your glass tears, still sobbing for more. Fighting with you is almost pointless.

And then I remember the buzzing.

Sure, I know where you are. You're on the table as always, your shiny, paste-on garment covering your over-tanned and old body. But there is something more important than you and your painfully beautiful body. Today is the day I throw you out for good. My friend, yes, my friend is here to see me. We're going to the movies with Catherine and her wonderful little girl, Lindsey. I had better get my ass up. I open my eyes and sit up from the couch, adjusting my dark blue shirt.

You're not here. I've disposed of you, because I won the fight. I remember now. I won the fight weeks ago. I get up and walk towards the door, sliding the locks and opening the door.

"Hey," she greets me, a smile on her face. The gap in her teeth is adorable, don't you think? Oh right, you're gone. And she helped me get rid of you. It's one of the many reasons that I love her, a lot more than I ever loved you.

"Morning, Sara. Just let me grab my wallet," I reply, walking to the counter and grabbing my old leather wallet. I turn around to see her leaning against the doorway, looking fairly happy. Her dark eyes twinkle more lately, and it makes my stomach flutter every time.

"I'm glad that you're coming with us, Sofia. I was really worried about you." Oh, she's just too sweet. Believe me, Sara, I was worried, too.

"Yeah, me too… Anyway, let's get going, I'm sure Lindsey is excited to go." Sara giggles lightly and steps aside for me to exit the door. My hands are shaking slightly, as they always do when I just awaken. I feel a light pressure on my lower back as my keys are taken from me, her hot breath by my ears.

"Here, let me get that," she whispers gently, locking my door. For a second I feel her press fully against my back, her taller form curling to mine perfectly. This is better than it was with you, and I'm not even sure she loves me. I can't help but smile at her, if only to feel her warmth again.

I don't have to fight with you anymore, my wretched lady whiskey. I beat you.

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**END**


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